


Knocked Off-center

by LouLa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouLa/pseuds/LouLa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's supposed to be a training exercise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knocked Off-center

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BoomquieshaJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoomquieshaJ/gifts).



> As usual, this has only been self-edited. Profuse apologies for any remaining errors. I'm working off of nothing but my phone for the time being.
> 
> Thank you to James for the prompting and nudging.

It's supposed to be a training exercise. Stiles isn't really sure how he can be expected to learn when Derek doesn't even give him a chance.

 

He grunts as he hits the cold, hard ground once again. There's sweat beading at his temple, and he's not sure if it's from exertion or frustration at this point. Derek, frankly, looks nothing short of completely bored.

 

"You have to," Stiles pants, gritting his teeth when he pushes against the weight of Derek's chest and doesn't manage to budge him the slightest bit. "You have to give me a chance."

 

Stiles is getting desperate now, frantic, sloppier every time he tries to use one of the moves Derek taught him. It's been hours, the rest of the pack is long gone, but Stiles is still here. Exhausted and worn down, defeated. He's tried to walk away, doesn't make it as far as a few feet from where he was last on the ground before Derek is tackling him from behind again.

 

"You've had plenty of chances, it's not my fault you aren't getting it. Focus," he barks sharply, surprising Stiles with the sudden raise of his voice.

 

He gives one more weak shove at Derek, trying to break his hold, but it gets him nowhere, same as it has for the past four hours. He goes limp in Derek's hold, praying for the icy, unforgiving ground beneath him to swallow him up.

 

"I'm done," he announces. "I quit. This isn't working. You're a freaking werewolf, so point made, dude. I now understand fully that I will die if one of your brethren gets its furry paws on me. Good lesson. That was totally a fact I wasn't previously aware of."

 

"Stiles," Derek growls, tightening his hold. It hurts. Really, it fucking hurts. Stiles is going to have bruises on top of bruises on top of permanently damaged skin. If it's possible, he goes even more limp.

 

"Not fighting anymore. I can't win. I can't even pretend to have half a chance at winning. Put a fork in me, I'm so done. Not overly so, though, probably still bloody and raw in the middle. Mm, tasty Stiles steak, like a five-foot-eleven werewolf treat, huh?"

 

Derek blinks at Stiles like he is the stupidest thing he has ever seen and also like he is actually going to murder him.

 

That's perfect, though. It's perfect because he's finally distracted, finally loosened his hold enough that Stiles can extract his revenge and finish up the hazy little plan that he's almost sure won't work and will get him killed. But hey, maybe. Right now it's either death or his bed, those are his only options, all he wants.

 

He doesn't pause to think about it, doesn't give Derek a chance to react, just brings his knee up as swiftly and harshly as he can between Derek's legs and mentally fist pumps when Derek's face visibly crumples.

 

His grip on Stiles drops almost immediately and Stiles scrambles away, jumping to his feet and running toward his Jeep parked at the end of the clearing.

 

Only, he doesn't expect to make it there. He didn't expect to even get away. Which gives him pause, and when he stops and turns to look, Derek is still on the ground, curled in on himself.

 

It really sinks in then, what the hell he just did. He kneed a werewolf in the jewels. Man, he kneed a freaking werewolf in the nuts, what the hell.

 

"Crap," he mutters to himself, jogging back in Derek's direction.

 

Oh, god, it's so bad, he wishes he would have just got in the Jeep and drove away because Derek is whimpering. _Whimpering_. Like a puppy. An injured puppy.

 

Stiles basically broke every bro-code ever in existence, and fuck everything, he's going to die for it.

 

"Shit," he hisses, crouching down slowly and placing his hands on Derek's shoulders. "Shit, dude. That was, man, I am so sorry, you have my permission to like, disembowel me or whatever. That was not cool. I am the actual worst, oh my god. Are you okay, I mean, clearly not, Derek, just breathe, man."

 

Stiles expects to see murderous blood-red eyes when Derek finally opens them and looks up at Stiles, but they're clear, human, if still a little tight around the corners with pain.

 

He also expects to be slammed to the ground again with enough force to rattle his brain so that isn't at all surprising when it happens. Jarring, definitely, he might have actually chipped a tooth, but not surprising. Neither is Derek right up in his face, teeth bared, looking, for the most part, like a rabid dog trapped inside the body of one overly attractive he-man.

 

Stiles closes his eyes and waits for the inevitable. Derek is definitely about to make good on that tearing Stiles' throat out with his teeth threat.

 

Derek's hands curled into Stiles' shirt are painful against his chest, all of Derek's weight leaned onto them, holding Stiles down. But really, that's probably nothing in the grand scheme of things. Man, it'll probably hurt so much when Derek rips him open.

 

The sudden pressure against his mouth doesn't make sense until he blinks his eyes open and sees Derek's eyelids. Then it makes even less sense.

 

Stiles' mouth falls open in shock under Derek's, which leaves Derek kissing his teeth, more or less. Which is weird. The kissing. That's the weird part. He expected teeth to be in this equation, only with more bite. Which he gets, except there's no tearing or ripping. Pain. But not blood. Just sharp points dug into his bottom lip where Derek has it held between his teeth.  And then there's some tongue too, and Stiles pulls back, which is easy enough because Derek lets him go, only to follow, slotting their lips together once more.

 

Stiles, apparently, is an idiot, because he's still not sure what is happening here. "Um," he mumbles against Derek's mouth.

 

Huffing irritably, into Stiles' mouth, wow, that's weird, Derek pulls back and glares at Stiles. "Do exactly that," he says gruffly, and then gingerly climbs to his feet, shifting uncomfortably once he's standing. "But if you ever do it to me again, they won't find even a single piece of your body."

 

Derek is halfway across the clearing, at an incredibly slow walk, before Stiles fully realizes that Derek just kissed him. And that he totally didn't kiss him back.

 

By the time Stiles manages to find his feet, Derek is hobbling his way into the woods on the other side of Stiles' Jeep.

 

He looks so pathetic. Like an actual wounded pup, and that's just not right.

 

"Dude," Stiles calls, jogging across the clearing toward his Jeep again. When that gets him no response he shouts, "Derek. Hey, I'll give you a ride home. Come on."

 

The fact that Derek looks genuinely annoyed at Stiles giving him a ride home is pretty ridiculous, like, how can he be annoyed that Stiles is driving ten miles out of his way rather than letting Derek walk it. Seriously, his pride must be aching or something, along with his nads, because that is just stupid.

 

"Pretty sure I'm the one who gets to act put out, here," Stiles mutters as he's pulling out onto the gravel path that leads up to the main road, fully aware that Derek can hear him perfectly. "I'm the one that's not going to heal for two weeks, thank you very much. I can feel myself getting more bruised and swollen by the minute."

 

"Healing isn't exactly the most pleasant feeling," Derek grits out, seemingly having to force himself to unclench his teeth.

 

"You didn't give me a choice!" Stiles says loudly, defensive. "I didn't ask to be thrown to the ground repeatedly."

 

"It's for your own good, and you're the one who's complaining, not me."

 

"Right. So glad you're going to such great lengths to keep me out of painful situations, oh, wait."

 

Silence falls throughout the Jeep, and when Stiles glances over, he finds Derek glaring broodily out the window. Stiles' hands tighten on the steering wheel and he tells himself to shut up.

 

That hardly works though. Before he even realizes what he's saying, the question is out of his mouth. "And what the hell was that back there? You kissed me. Why did you kiss me?"

 

Not that he regrets asking or anything because he really wants to know what in the hell that was all about. Derek doesn't just kiss people, especially not Stiles people, or Stiles himself. That's just...

 

Naturally he doesn't get an answer. Stiles' father would be appalled at his driving, but he seriously can't keep his eyes on the road when he's glancing Derek's way every two seconds trying to gauge a reaction. There's a jaw thing, a neck thing, even an eye thing, possibly a mouth thing too. But Stiles doesn't know what any of it means because words. They're not words and Derek could either be contemplating world peace, considering the merits of jumping out of the moving vehicle, deciding how exactly to get rid of every single piece of the Sheriff's son's body, or thinking about fishing. Stiles doesn't know, he can't read minds.

 

"No," he says. "No, you don't get to do that. You can't kiss me and then refuse to give me an explanation. What the hell. If you jump out of this car I will run you down and kick you in the nuts again, I swear to God."

 

"I wanted to," Derek answers gruffly. Then, "Positive reinforcement."

 

The way he says it makes it sound like two entirely different answers, which is helpful. Clearly one's a lie, then. Unless he means it exactly like he said it, but Stiles knows that even if Derek doesn't say much, he's better spoken than he wanted to positive reinforcement. Because that's just, what, okay.

 

Derek's expression doesn't change once they're pulled up to the Hale house. Stiles doesn't blame him for not being excited to get home, Stiles would never be excited to get home if his house looked like that. Even if he doesn't show it, though, he's obviously eager to get out of the Jeep since Stiles isn't even to a complete stop when the door is opened and the overhead light flicks on to illuminate the interior.

 

"Wait. Wait a second," Stiles demands, reaching out to catch Derek's wrist before he can swing out of the car. Stiles is probably lucky Derek's still moving a bit gingerly otherwise he never would have caught him in time if Derek wanted out.

 

"What," Derek bites out shortly.

 

There's not really a chance to gather his courage or time to think it through or anything like that, he's just got this one shot to go through with it. He's already acted without really considering the consequences tonight and that didn't turn out as badly as it could have. So really, he's pressing his luck but that's not a thought he even gets to until he's leaned across the short distance between them and rushed into Derek's space to land an unexpected kiss of his own.

 

And by land he means sort of awkwardly smash their noses together and then clack their teeth against each other painfully because he closed his eyes way too soon, had dreadful aim, and Derek apparently hated him enough not to spare him the embarrassment by lining them up.

 

"God damn it," Stiles hisses grumpily, rubbing his nose.

 

He means to give up, truly, he does, because in all likelihood, things are only going to get worse but Derek's had more than enough time to get out of the Jeep and yet he continues sitting there perfectly still like some stoic sculpture crafted from nothing but pure sexiness and intimidation.

 

Stiles is way more careful this time about getting it right. Third time's the charm and all that, it actually happens. Lips on lips and no teeth or noses in the way. He's so busy mentally fist-pumping, he kind of forgets that kissing is more than just lips touching each other, but he's so not complaining either because, seriously, score!

 

Derek is way more patient than Stiles is expecting, is the thing. A weird thing. Stiles half expected to be killed and-slash-or maimed by now but Derek is totally just waiting for Stiles to focus, and he's working on it. So, so working on it.

 

It's really only just the slightest shift and their mouths slot together and Stiles' mind hones in on what is happening. Or maybe instinct takes over since Stiles has no idea how to kiss, like his brain never really retained how kissing works because he's got no first hand experience there to speak of and yet he's definitely kissing Derek. Actual kissing.

 

And it must kind of work because Derek doesn't pull away disgusted or take over when it's probably obvious Stiles is a little unsure. The separation is mutual and Stiles can feel his heart hop up into his throat when there's the faintest of sounds when their lips part. It sinks in with this sweet little kick to Stiles' stomach that it happened, he kissed Derek.

 

"Uh, wow, so." Stiles leans back and blinks at Derek's confused face. Maybe he's happy, not confused, Stiles really doesn't know. He clears his throat, tries to pretend he's not fighting back the biggest, dopiest grin ever, and says, "I wanted to positive reinforcement too."

 

Derek rolls his eyes before he gets out. Still, Stiles definitely catches the tail end of the smile that Derek is trying to hide from him. He should start kneeing people in the nuts more often if this is the reaction he gets.

 

"I hope your balls heal okay," Stiles says earnestly. Derek slams the car door and glares at him through the window before walking away. Stiles rolls down the window, shouting, "Let me know if you need help testing whether they still work. I could positively reinforce them for you," at Derek's retreating back.

 

He's not entirely sure how kneeing Derek in the balls ended in kissing but practically offering to blow him gets him nothing more than a flipped finger.


End file.
